Watchers
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!
338 Views
Yet it fades into the sun
Taking shape of a life undone
Falling into a dwelling space
That knows no longer time or place.
What questions in silence keep
That would disturb infernal sleep
Or awaken at the sight
Of our Lord's eternal light.